


The Art of De-Stressing

by alabasterclouds



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Crack and Angst, Crying, Diapers, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Infantilism, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 20:12:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2705090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alabasterclouds/pseuds/alabasterclouds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike Ross has been under an inordinate amount of stress since the firm took on Ava Hessington's case. A childhood pants- and bed-wetter, he's finding that his little problem that he thought he'd left behind in his teens is coming back at work. After an accident in the file room, Mike runs into Ava, working late, and realizes that she's going to find out his secret.</p><p>Gen crack!fic. Warnings: infantilism, diapers, wetting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of De-Stressing

It started when Mike had screwed up, again.

Ava Hessington had seemingly ensconced herself not only in the firm’s offices, but also in Harvey’s mind. The man was on edge, constantly, and Mike was having issues of his own. So when Harvey had yelled at Mike about forgetting an important document that needed to go into discovery, Mike realized that Harvey wasn’t going to get over it too quickly. He’d quietly withdrawn to the file room, ostensibly to look for the document, but also to spend a little time wallowing in self-pity and embarrassment.

Except that now, that’s not all that’s wrong.

It started before this, when he was a bike messenger on the streets of NYC. Sometimes he just didn’t have time to go to the bathroom before he had to deliver the next package, always a rush order. So he’d have accidents. They weren’t huge accidents, but they were enough to be fairly humiliating, even though no one ever found out. And then he started working at Pearson Darby Specter.

It began with just tiny accidents. A little trickle here, a slight wet spot there. And then it escalated, into full-on accidents in the bathroom that required him to have extra suit pants under his desk at all times. Now, it seems like he’s wetting himself every few days or so – and all the time at night. His childhood bedwetting came back with a vengeance right when Ava hit the scene. The woman is so incredibly stressful. Mike can only imagine that’s the reason why he keeps acting like a baby constantly.

Thank God, this time, Harvey and Jessica aren’t here. They’re off having dinner somewhere. He doesn’t know where and he doesn’t care where. He just hopes he can sneak out without anyone knowing that he’s pissed himself in the file room again.

Slinking out in the half-lit hallways is strangely comforting. At least he can quickly get to the elevators without any security guards seeing him, and then get home and into the shower. He’s really getting the hang of this, now, and he even imperceptibly relaxes as he comes up on the boardroom.

But something is different tonight. The boardroom lights are blazing. Shit.

Ava must be here. She’s taken to doing her work in the boardroom at night, citing that her hotel room is too distracting and calling long-distance to London too expensive. (This way, she can use the firm’s long distance, and simply add it to her bill. It’s a bit audacious, but clever.) Shit. Well, maybe he can slink past her if he stays more to the shadowy parts of the wall and doesn’t make a sound. At least he’s not wearing shoes. On the carpet, his feet make almost no sound.

He gets almost as far as the end of the glass wall before Ava looks up and imperiously calls him in.

"Mr. Ross. i'd like a word with you, please."

Christ. What’s he going to do now? Ava thinks he’s a royal idiot, from the way she barely conceals her contempt for both him and Harvey, and if she notices that he’s wet himself like a baby, she’ll surely contact Harvey immediately. He can just imagine Jessica’s face when she finds out. He’ll be out of a job in a heartbeat.

He takes a step away and she calls again. "Mr. ROSS. I believe I’ve just asked you to come in here. Ignoring me is the height of rudeness."

And so now, with her voice being as raised as it is, he can't pretend he didn't hear. And involuntarily his head had jerked up, so he can't even feign he didn't hear her. It’s obvious he did.

So he turns around. And by now the air conditioning in the office is making him cold, because his pants are all wet, down into his shoes. Even though he knows she hasn’t seen anything yet, he feels about four years old, called up on the carpet in kindergarten to get scolded for having an accident.

He knows Ava now can see through the glass that something is a bit wrong with Mr. Ross. He doesn't seem quite right. The way the lights are, she can't exactly see what is wrong, but he's walking slowly, and very, very strangely. She frowns.

He watches her frown and inwardly sighs. He gets to the doorway of the boardroom and peers around it. "Can I help you, Ms. Hessington?"

His voice shivers a little bit, because despite the fact that he's trying to pretend nothing is wrong, well, EVERYTHING is, and he's getting a big lump in his throat that he's unsuccessfully trying to swallow away.

Ava sighs loudly and looks down at her papers, and she starts to wave a hand in irritation. Is she dismissing him? Please, God, let her be dismissing him.

Mike almost thinks he has an out - but he knows that's not going to happen when she looks back up and skewers him with her icy blue eyes. She won't let him leave, and stalking away at high speed really would be the height of rudeness. Shit.

So he steps just slightly around the door. Not even enough to come all the way in, but enough that the light is going to inexorably fall on his suit, and therefore, on his wet pants.

As he comes fully into the light, he knows Ava sees, as her eyes are glued straight to him. Her face changes almost imperceptibly, almost disbelievingly. Her brow furrows, if possible, even more, and she opens her mouth. Mike squeezes his eyes involuntarily shut.

But she doesn't say anything. She simply closes her mouth, and in a very uncharacteristic way, clears her throat. "Erm. I wanted to go over these financials with you. I’m not sure the numbers are quite correct."

She looks down at the pages in front of her, and then back up into Mike's eyes, but Mike can't look at her. In fact, his cheeks are flushing bright, bright red, and his chin is starting to quiver.

"Mr. Ross?" she asks, her usually harsh voice slightly softer.

He can't answer her. He fixes his eyes on the bottom corner of the wide picture window and tries to compose himself. This is a dream. There’s nothing wrong. He’s not standing in front of one of the firm's key clients with wet pants like a baby. This isn't happening.

But Ava speaks again. "Mr. Ross."

Now it's not even a question. Her voice is oddly and embarrassingly gentle.

Mike knows at this point he should answer. He should answer, in a reassuring, very calming, very businesslike way. Because he doesn't have to cry and make this awkward. He doesn't have to retreat into himself, where that hurt four-year-old little boy lives, and make this an awkward situation.

So he opens his mouth to answer her, and instead of his voice coming out, confident and manly and businesslike, maybe even a bit pompous, the way Harvey speaks to Ava, a tiny, tiny whimper escapes. It’s not even enough to qualify as CRYING, no . . . please no, it's not enough to qualify as crying. But it escapes and Ava’s usually pinched, hardened features soften completely.

"Oh, Michael," she says, her Irish accent soft. "It's all right, my boy."

Mike knows he can whirl around and run. It would be extremely cowardly, stupid, and he's sure Harvey would hear about it tomorrow from Ava. Maybe it would have even been the right thing to do, anyway, to save some of his dignity, whatever shreds of it he has left. But he doesn't go away, because he can't. He feels glued to the spot. And Ava rises gracefully to her feet, and makes to come over to him.

There’s a frisson of horror, then. Is she going to slap him? Chide him? Mike, somewhere in his rational mind, doesn't know exactly what a woman like Ava would do in a situation like this. As far as he knows, she doesn't have any children. And why is he even thinking of himself in that category? He’s a grown man, for God's sake. It’s bad enough he has to stand here in front of her freezing in soaked trousers, without thinking of all of that.

He hears a sniffle, and then another one, and realizes that his cheeks are wet. So he is crying. Great, Ross. Great.

Ava stands quite a bit shorter than Mike does - she's not a very big woman at all. But she feels larger than life as she comes up to him and puts her hand on his shoulder.

"There’s no need for all that. Hush now." Her words are simple, but that gentle voice . . . he gulps and now an audible whimper escapes, his chest hitching against a sob.

"Oh, Michael." The cool hand on his shoulder pats it. "I’m certain you're not the first that this has ever happened to, especially not in an office like this. You’re still a young man. This isn't the end of the world. There, now." The pats turn to rubs. "And you certainly shouldn't remain in those wet things. You’ll catch your death."

Her old-fashioned, formal speech should have snapped him out of it. Or even made him laugh. but instead his hands rise up, unbidden, to cover his hot, wet face, the same way they have every single time he's been upset or embarrassed. And the sobs he's been trying to keep back aren't staying back . . . they're coming hard and fast. He feels another chest hitch, and then he starts to sob, all at once. Because his hands are in front of his face, he can't see how Ava is reacting, but he kind of wishes she would just go away.

She doesn't go away. Instead, her shoulder rubs now transfer to his back.

"Oh, shh. Oh, dear." She even sounds a little awkward, as she must, being the ice queen she is. Mike’s mind flashes to a happier time, when he and Harvey got drunk one Saturday night in Harvey’s office and made fun of her roundly from midnight to 4 A.M. But he can't connect the woman he loved to hate with Harvey, with this woman, who is doing her level best to comfort him.

Some time passes. The sobs eventually slow down. And oddly, Ava doesn't leave his side, except for once. When he finally takes his hands away from his eyes, he sees that she's brought a bottle of water from the kitchen and a Kleenex box from Jessica’s office and placed them on the boardroom table. Somewhere in his rational mind, he's amused at her sheer balls, just taking whatever she wants.

Mike realizes that he's sunk to his knees throughout this wonderfully emotional performance, and Ava is sitting beside him on the floor, her legs elegantly tucked under her. He wonders briefly how exactly that straitjacket of a dress allows her to sit that way, but stops when the air conditioning kicks on again and a rush of cold air freezes his lower parts again. He needs to change, and soon, before he has another accident and makes more of a cleanup job for the custodians.

Ava notices that Mike has looked up and she smiles. When she isn't being a complete bitch, she actually has a beautiful, very soft smile. "Returned to us then, have you?"

He doesn't speak. He knows his voice will be all cracked and choked up. Instead, he just nods, and then averts his eyes. He doesn't want to have to tell her what happened. He doesn't want to explain what's happening to him. He doesn't want to even be here right now. He’s cold and upset and stressed out.

His lower lip starts to tremble again, and this time, Ava reaches out and gives him an unexpected hug.

"Shh, darling. No more tears. I’m not going to let anyone know about this, obviously, as I’m sure you'd prefer."

In her arms, he smells some kind of expensive perfume, and her own scent, which is not the old-lady-type scent he imagined her having. It’s softer, sweeter. It kind of reminds him of the way he remembers his mother smelling, actually. And at first he freezes, being hugged by Ava Hessington, but soon he just allows himself to melt into her arms. He even, incongruously, has a wild desire to suck his thumb, as he hears Ava’s heart beating next to his ear. It’s soothing, even as he knows she must be as nervous as he is to be in this situation, from how fast it's beating.

Ava smiles down at him. “I never had any children," she says faintly. "I’m not very good at this, I’m afraid."

Then she appears to snap out of it, because she briskly pats his back. "You, young man, need some dry trousers. You’re going to start to smell soon, and besides, it's not healthy to stay damp like that."

Mike blushes again, and is about to nod, when he feels the sudden urge to go again. "No, no," he involuntarily whispers. He can feel Ava’s confusion, and he feels her intake of breath to ask the inevitable question, but Mike knows it's too late when he feels the detestable and familiar warmth suffuse over his lower parts again.

He turns his head back into Ava’s chest, just wishing he was anywhere but here. Wishing he was even home, having to deal with a wet bed for the umpteenth time. But at the same time, he doesn't feel the same desperation he has felt. Maybe that's because Ava is now stroking his hair and murmuring, "Oh dear. It’s happened again, has it? Poor lad."

Mike wants to cry. He even manages a few cracked sobs. But he really has nothing left in him to cry. This is his life. It’s never going to be any different than this. so he, despite all professional boundaries impressed upon him by this firm, and knowing that Jessica would for sure fire him in a heartbeat if she knew what was happening now, just snuggles closer to Ava. And this time, he allows his thumb to find his mouth. He doesn't care anymore.

Ava, meanwhile, appears to be thinking. "We’re going to have to get this cleaned up, certainly. You certainly cannot stay that way."

She pulls her phone out of her dress pocket without disturbing Mike in her arms, and dials a number.

"Keller. Yes. I’d like you to go to the nearest drug store and pick up a few things for me. Yes, I’ll provide the list over text message in a moment. Do hurry, and call when you've arrived back. It’s so late that I don't believe there's any security at the door able to allow you up, so I’ll need to come and meet you at the door to collect the items. Yes. That’s all."

Mike has no idea what she's doing, but he doesn't want her to stop holding him. He seems to have entered another world, or another realm, where all of this is okay. As Ava loosens her grip on him, he whimpers, almost involuntarily, and feels her chuckle in response. “I won't let go, Michael. You like a bit of a cuddle, I see."

Mike hears some tapping as Ava enters the list of supplies she wants into her Blackberry, and he sighs gustily as the warm wetness in his pants gives way to cold, yucky dampness. He squirms in her arms, and Ava pats his back as she puts her phone back into her dress pocket.

“I know you're wet, darling. What I don't seem to understand is why. You’re a grown man. Why are you having these little accidents?"

Her accent's inflections make the questions, if possible, even more embarrassing. Ava speaks as if she isn't actually asking questions. Her voice makes everything into statements. Mike curls up into himself, snuggling more into her arms, as if that would mean he wouldn't have to answer her, but Ava removes one of her arms from around him and tips his chin up so that his eyes meet hers. And instead of the steely blue eyes he's grown used to, her eyes are soft and sympathetic. It helps a bit.

“I . . . I don't really know," he finally answers her, his voice just as cracked and ugly as he thought it would be. Pathetic Mike Ross, as usual.

"They started happening a few months ago. I, well, I used to wet my bed as a child. And it started like that. Again. Kind of. It wasn't all the time. It just was some of the time, I guess. I don't know." His voice is starting to quiver again, and Ava strokes his forehead.

"Shh. Slow down, love. It’s all right. You’re hardly on trial, here." She smiles down at him. "Do you speak like this in the courtroom, hmm?"

He flushes, and she chucks him under his chin, laughing a little bit. "You’re a darling boy."

But soon enough, she's not smiling anymore, and he knows that's his cue to continue. "They started happening at work about a month ago. And in the daytime, too. Sometimes. They’ve happened at work a few times now. I don't know why." He starts to chew on the nail of his thumb again, but she stops him, gently pulling his hand from his mouth.

"And?"

"And I want them to stop!" This last comes out as a fairly loud whimper, and Ava snuggles him close.

"Of course you want them to stop, poor love.”

Mike turns his head into Ava’s chest, wanting to shut out this whole situation. Ava rubs his back soothingly for a while, and they don't say anything else, until her Blackberry beeps. "Ah," she breathes. "That’ll be my chauffeur."

Mike now vaguely wonders what exactly she ordered from the drug store. He is going to have to clean up. He can already smell a faint odor, reminiscent of the last time he wet his bed (last night), and he's starting to feel very uncomfortable. His suit pants are sticking to him in a very awful-feeling way, and the carpet they're sitting on is wet underneath him. He starts thinking quickly.

There’s a spare pair of suit pants, he know, in Harvey’s office. He’s borrowed Harvey’s suits before, especially when he's wet his own, not that Harvey knows much about it. As long as his suits are back in his closet, cleaned and ready for him, he doesn't care if Mike borrows them for whatever reason, though they are too big.

His thumb finds his mouth again, and he starts to suck on it, his eyes gazing into the middle distance, when Ava strokes his cheek again. "Michael, I’m going to have to meet the chauffeur downstairs to fetch what I’ve had him bring. I’ll need you to let me back into the office. Can you do that, do you think?"

Her voice is gentle, but there's a touch of the old authority back, and Mike blushes again. Of course he can do that! He’s not stupid . . . just wet.

"Yes," he whispers, and she nods. He moves miserably away from her, already missing her warmth, and watches as she gracefully gets to her feet. Then, without even really knowing why, he starts to whimper again.

Ava stops at the door to the boardroom, looking confused, and a little unsure. Both emotions are strange ones on her always-poised face. "Michael, I’ll only be gone for a moment," she tries to reason with him. "Surely this can't be about me leaving you. Why, we've only just really met."

Mike miserably rubs his fists into his eyes. She’s right. This shouldn't be about anything to do with her. But nothing about this night is normal, and what she doesn't know is that after an accident, he always, always cries, whether it's normal or understandable to do it or not. He’s always crying these days. It’s pathetic.

His only response to Ava is a loud sniff, and she comes over and runs a hand over his unruly hair.

"It’s only for a moment, and I do promise you're going to like what I’ve gotten. Some of it's for you. Now," she says, her voice hardening. "You let me up when you hear the reception phone ring. I believe the command you press is 9."

Mike nods. He knows all this already, but she's right in thinking he's probably not right in the head at this very moment.

"All right. Now. Don’t be upset, love. I’ll be right back up." And she leaves. He scrambles to his feet and follows her to the reception desk, and then suddenly, the air conditioner kicks on again and he shivers from head to toe as the breeze cuts right through his wet pants. Goosebumps rise on his half-bare arms - his suit jacket is in Harvey’s office.

Ava, on the other hand, seems completely fine with the air conditioning, and presses the button to call the elevator with her old imperious way.

"Michael, I don't believe you should be standing there if you're cold. Go back into the boardroom for now. It’s warmer in there."

"But . . ." and his lower lip starts trembling. Ava sighs and rolls her blue eyes.

"Good God, Michael. It’s like you've never been taken care of in your life!"

But . . . that's true, at least, ever since his grandmother died. Not that she knows about that. And she doesn't need to. He bites his lip and turns slowly around to obey her, but she takes his arm, gently, and then gives him a dry, almost-grandmotherly kiss on the cheek.

"You mind, now. I’ll be back." She turns around and starts clacking away, leaving Mike standing awkwardly in the middle of the floor.

After Ava disappears on the elevator, Mike wanders back and forth from the boardroom to Reception, not wanting to miss her call. It is cold, but not as bad when he's walking back and forth. What he's trying to do is get a hold of himself. He’s thirty years old, for God's sake, and a grown man. None of this should be upsetting him this much, nor should he even be having these problems.

He makes a mental note to call his doctor back tomorrow, to make an appointment. This has to stop. And this thinking causes him, briefly, to snap back out of his little boy-mentality. Soon, his mind is clicking along as it always has. This doesn't have to be any more embarrassing than it is. He’s sure Ava will agree, too.

Just as he thinks that, the reception desk phone starts to ring. He picks it up and presses 9, and hears the elevator across the way start to whir. Well, at least he can do something right.

The elevator door dings, and Ava comes out, holding two large plastic bags. "There, now," she says, giving him a smile, a smile that softens her whole demeanor. "Now, you didn't waste away without me, did you?"

Despite Mike's resolve to be a man, and to simply give her a smile and help her carry in her packages, he finds himself practically running over to her anyway, and stopping just short of throwing his arms around her small frame.

Ava just chuckles, and putting down her packages, holds open her arms. "There, now, you can have a bit of a cuddle, and then we're going to sort you out, young man. You certainly cannot stay that way. And I wouldn't want you to get used to any of this, either," she mutters, maybe trying to get a little of her old self back, too.

He leans into the hug, enjoying her warmth and the way she hugs properly, not like some people do, just holding you off a little bit, and not really squeezing you to them. Ava, like anything else she does, does hugging properly. She hugs him close to her, though still far enough off that he won't ruin her dress, and kisses his cheek again. He’s beginning to think she actually is liking this role.

He’s actually liking this new role of hers.

She lets him go and gives him another one of those smiles he's starting to really love, and then picks up the packages. He awkwardly clears his throat and holds out his hand for them, but she just gives him a quizzical look and he drops his hand, feeling a bit stupid. Of course, she's going to do exactly as she pleases.

Back in the boardroom, she places the bags on the table and then starts to take things out. He isn't surprised at what he sees. Wet wipes, yes. A carton of milk . . . okay, maybe she had to do some shopping before she went home, but okay. A bag of cookies . . . so she has a sweet tooth? And then the next two items make his jaw drop. Baby powder comes out of the bag, and a package of baby bottles. DOES she have children?

Ava casts a side-long glance at Mike, and he can see amusement starting to twitch at her features. But she inexorably keeps unpacking the bags. Next out is a pair of flannel pajama pants. Clearly she couldn't have gotten THOSE at the drug store. And then a grey T-shirt. Did she send Keller to Walmart or something?

Now Mike is leaning forward, his mouth slightly open. This really is the most surreal thing that's ever happened to him. The one bag is now empty, and Ava turns to the other one. There’s only one item in the other bag. And he, with a sinking feeling, knows what it is.

"And that does it, I believe," says Ava, pulling out a package of adult diapers and setting them resolutely on the boardroom table. Mike is dying inside. He can only imagine what would happen if any of his colleagues were here right now. Like Louis. Or god forbid, HARVEY.

Ava turns to Mike. "Now, I had Keller guess at the sizes, but you're not a big lad, so I imagine everything will fit. I just can't get over these American stores. Everything in one place!"

She sounds so pleased that Mike almost has a wild desire to laugh. Ava Hessington, oil baroness, pleased over a store like Walmart. If he wasn't standing there in wet pants and staring at a package of diapers on a boardroom table, he'd swear that he was dreaming. Maybe he is.

Then Ava becomes business-like. "All right. Let’s get you more comfortable, hmm? I’m sure you'll be feeling less upset in a few minutes."

But she hangs back, and Mike suddenly realizes she's waiting for a sign from him. He had actually kind of expected her to just come forward and start undressing him. He feels almost grateful that she's waiting for some kind of consent from him. So, he steps toward her, and slowly begins to unbutton his shirt.

His hands are starting to shake, though. And a big reason is because of those diapers sitting there. His grandmother had made him wear diapers to bed for years - until he was almost 18, actually, because his bedwetting had been quite bad, happening almost every night. The shame rises up inside him, and he bites his lower lip.

He can't stop his chin from quivering, though, and Ava puts her cool hand on his cheek again. "Shh, shh. Will I give you a hand, then?" she murmurs, and deftly unbuttons his shirt, then slips it off.

The soft grey t-shirt she pulls over his head after snipping off the tags feels wonderful. Mike HATES his suits, and generally tries to rip off whatever pieces of them he can once the workday is done. The size is very close to what he would usually wear - just a tiny bit bigger. In his t-shirt, he looks more like the young man he is, and he can see the approval on Ava’s face. But now . . .

Mike senses that Ava really doesn't want to address the wet pants any more than Mike wants her to, but he also knows Ava. She steels herself up and then says, "Now, love, why don't you slip those wet things off and I’ll get one of the nappies for you?"

This is the first time he's considered challenging her. He doesn't want to wear those. And he knows he'll be fine, once he's in dry pants. He knows it. But . . . he doesn't meet her eyes. He stares at his feet and shakes his head slowly.

Ava looks at him for a moment, as if considering what to say next. He still won't look directly at her. Instead, he looks at her feet, which are clad in nylons. But he can see her toes through her pantyhose, and he feels a little surprised to find that they're painted a hot pink. He would have thought someone like Ava would have chosen a less fun color. Hmm.

He hears Ava chuckle, then. "I’m not sure that my feet, nor yours, are quite as fascinating as you seem to think they are, Mr. Ross," she says drily, and he knows she's caught him staring. He guiltily looks up to meet her eyes, and sees with a little jolt of shock that she seems to almost be blushing.

"Now. Come on, lovey. You need to get changed. I think the nappy is going to help you feel a little more comfortable, don't you?"

Mike shakes his head again. He thinks it's going to make him feel stupid, actually. But she seems to not get it. He focuses his eyes now over her left shoulder, out the window, and tries to explain, his voice shaky. "I don't . . . I don't really need them, actually," he says in a rush. "This doesn't happen enough for that."

Then he asks her an odd question. "Where are your shoes?"

Ava looks surprised. She didn't expect that. "That’s a nice diversion, but the point we're focusing on here is why you feel like after wetting yourself twice, you don't need to wear some sort of protection," she counters, and he flushes miserably. Well, so much for that.

But her face softens. “I don't like to wear shoes when I don't have to. A little quirk, I guess."

Mike can understand that. He doesn't like shoes, either, and isn't wearing his now. There just seems to be no point when there's no one else in the building and it's eleven at night. But he can see Ava isn't going to let this go.

“I think you're going to feel much better if you're wearing some kind of protection, darling. I know you think you're a big boy and don't need them, but this reaction is proving to me that you really aren't letting on just how often these little accidents happen, are you?"

Mike now shakes his head firmly. "No, I don't want to," he says, trying for a firm voice, but coming out as a whine. "I’m too big," he finishes miserably, and then wants to kick himself. He’s too BIG? Well, one should hope so, at his age!

Ava chuckles. Her chuckle is starting to grow on him. It’s smoky and rich and husky, and he likes it. It’s comforting.

"Oh, Michael. I don't think how big you are has anything to do with the situation. You do like to try to divert, don't you?" She steps forward and ruffles his hair, having to reach up to do it, as Mike does tower over her when they're standing. But despite the fact that he's over 6 feet and she's barely 5'5", if that, he feels like a little boy in front of her.

Mike opens his mouth to reply, but instead, he feels a big lump form in his throat instead. She’s not going to back down. He’s going to have to wear a diaper, after almost twelve years of not having to wear one (even though he probably needed to, at least sometimes). He closes his mouth, then, submissively, but his blue eyes sparkle with humiliated tears, and Ava clucks under her tongue.

"Michael, I wish you wouldn't take on so about this. It’s not the end of the world, darling."

Well, of course SHE doesn't think it is. She’s probably never had to do this. In the back of his mind, he actually wonders if maybe she has had to do this before, and if that's why she seems so sympathetic now. Blinking furiously, he pushes the thought out of his mind.

He holds out a hand for the diaper, but she picks up the wipes, instead. "How about taking off those wet trousers, first? Then you can clean up with these. You’ll get sore down there otherwise, I think."

Mike just stares at her. Is he to . . . actually take them off right here, in front of her? Ava notices his discomfort.

"Oh, love, I’ve seen plenty of bare boys before, and one more certainly isn't going to hurt me," she almost snaps, but then softens again when his chin starts to shake again. "Shh. If you want me to turn my back, I can. No more tears."

Really, it doesn't matter, thinks Mike, now completely resigned to the situation. This is just getting ridiculous and his fighting it isn't getting him more comfortable. He unzips his wet pants and steps out of them, leg by leg. The cold dampness sliding down his (admittedly) skinny legs is horrible, and he shivers again. Ava, who has politely diverted her gaze to somewhere up in the corner of the room, clucks under her tongue sympathetically again. He does have to admit it helps.

Now, his briefs. They’re boxer briefs, which Harvey has teased him about for almost the entire time he's known the man, whenever he catches sight of them when Mike changes into jeans for a late night or something. He doesn't think they're so bad. Boxers are too loose, and briefs are just too tight and weird. These seem like they work perfectly. But of course, he had to wear white ones, and the evidence of his accident is quite obvious. He pauses, then. Should he just strip off, or? Should he ask Ava to leave?

Ava makes the decision for him. "I’ll step out, Michael," she says, her imperious tone back. "Perhaps then you'll have decided to actually be reasonable, and we can get on with it."

But he doesn't want her to leave, suddenly, and not all angry like that. "No," he says, quickly, and she turns from where she's stalked over to the door, looking surprised. "No . . . I think . . . I mean, I might . . . need help?"

"All right, love. If you need help." she walks back over to him and takes the package of wet wipes. "Now, you slip those wet things off. That’s it, that's the way." she takes out a wipe and hands it to him. "I’d make sure that you've done a good job, there."

Mike tries not to think about the fact that she can see his penis right now. Thankfully, it's cold enough in here and the situation is just too weird. He isn't going to embarrass himself further - he hopes. There’s certainly nothing sexy about this.

He wipes himself down, and without being asked, Ava quietly wipes his legs down, too, and then helps him to take off his damp socks. Already he feels a lot better, and he looks eagerly over at the flannel pants, which will feel wonderful. But now Ava is turning back to the package of diapers. Oh. Right. Those . . .

"Now, Michael, I’m just going to insist for now. You can choose in future if this is what you want, but I daresay that if we're going to stay here, or even try to get you to your own home, that I certainly don't want you in the car with the possibility that you might have another accident. I’m sure you can see the logic in that."

Mike just sighs. Clearly, he's not getting out of her undiapered, not with Ava at the helm, being a control freak. But then, that's not fair. She’s done a lot for him when she could have ordered him out and told Harvey about everything. She still might.

But as he watches her unfold the diaper, her face set in a mix of concentration and stubbornness, he knows she won't tell him. Then she'd have to tell him everything else, too.

Mike suddenly doesn't know how she's going to get the diaper on him, or how he's going to get it on himself. Should he lie down, or? But Ava seems to know what to do. Again, he's a little confused as to HOW she really knows how to get it on.

"Now, darling, you just stand there, with your legs apart, that's the way." As he does so, she slides the diaper up between his legs and spreads it out over his bottom. The crinkling seems extra-loud in the silent boardroom, and he wants to bury his face in his hands. Instead, he fights the blush spreading up his neck and takes the diaper by the tabs, as she directs him, while she pulls the other half up and over his penis. Then, she deftly tapes one side, then the other, and it's done.

Mike lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and Ava laughs a little.

"It’s a bloody business, isn't it," she almost growls, and he starts to giggle a bit, too. Finally, she helps him into the flannel pajama pants, which are again, a little big, but so comfortable. And he's changed and feeling much, much better . . . just as she said he would.

"That’s much better now," she says, looking pleased, and then looks at the mess on the floor. "Well, I suppose we'll put these in the dry cleaning lot, no?" and Mike nods. He’s often had Harvey’s suits sent out, and in doing so, sent some of his own out.

He kneels to gather his wet things and his shirt, and as he does so, the diaper makes an unmistakable noise in the quiet of the room. He clears his throat, trying to hide it, but Ava just smiles, that look of amusement crossing her face again. She hands him one of the plastic bags to place his clothing in, and then accompanies him as he walks towards the boardroom door and down to Harvey’s office, where the basket for the dry cleaning is next to Donna’s desk.

The diaper is, well, NOISY. Much more than he remembers them being, but again, he had a rubber sheet on his bed, too, so bedtime was always a noisy affair from start to finish for him when he did have to wear them. Ava, instead of walking beside him, walks slightly behind him, and Mike finds himself slowing down so that she can catch up and walk beside him. But she keeps hanging back, and he suddenly stops, and turns toward her, looking confused.

Ava then laughs - not the little laugh or chuckle she's been doing before, but a full-throated laugh. “I just don't think we have the nappy in the right place, darling. It’s quite obvious under your trousers. I’m trying to figure out how to fix it."

Mike blushes, but laughs a little bit, too. Clearly both of them aren't really that good at this.

Mike clears his throat again, awkwardly. If she wants to fix it, she'll have to do it outside of Harvey’s office. Harvey pops in and out of the office as he pleases, and although it's now going onto midnight, he's been known to come in at three o'clock in the morning, even. He quietly drops the bag into the large basket under Donna’s desk labelled "dry cleaning" and then walks back around to come beside Ava again. And as he does so, almost without thinking, he takes Ava’s hand.

Ava looks down, a little surprised, but then squeezes his hand with her own. "You’re a very sweet, darling little boy," she murmurs, and he realizes just how lonely Ava herself must be.

She leads him back to the boardroom and after a bit of adjustment under his pajama pants, she gets the diaper where she wants it. He has to admit, he does feel more comfortable after she moves it a bit. After she's finished, he suddenly rubs his eyes and yawns, more as a reflex than anything.

"Ah, love. I imagine you're knackered," she says, and strokes back his hair again. "Will we think about going home? I can have Keller run you there in the car. He knows the city very well."

Mike does want to go home . . . but he doesn't want to go home alone. He bites his lip, and kind of hopes Ava will offer to at least drive home with him. He knows he can't expect her to want to come up to his apartment with him. But he does wish she would offer to stay with him, maybe, as weird as this all is. Through all this, he won't meet her eyes again, and he feels her cool hand tipping his chin back up to meet her eyes.

"Well, Michael, is that a yes, or a no?"

“I do want to go home," he mumbles. "But . . ." and then he closes his eyes, so that he doesn't have to look at Ava when she says that he can take it from here, he really is a grown 30-year-old man, and that she'll be reporting all of this to Harvey in the morning and requesting that he be taken off her case.

But Ava doesn't say any of that. He hears a deep, intake of breath, slightly rattly, because of her mad chain-smoking habit. He’s seen her outside the offices, snapping to a floozy on the phone, and smoking cigarette after cigarette. Then she says, softly, "Well, I certainly don't mind taking you home. Why don't we clear up all of this and go?"

Mike brightens at that, and for the first time all night, he actually smiles. And Ava can't help but smile back.

She strokes his cheek. "Well, now. That’s just lovely. Such a lovely smile."

Mike finally looks her directly in the eyes and then puts his arms around her, a little tentatively. He can't really think of another way to thank her for everything that she's done for him tonight. Immediately, she returns his tentative hug with a nice, strong one, and rubs his back briskly.

"All right, then, lad. Let’s get this sorted. I’m going to ring Keller, and then we'll go. Enough of this place for one night, no?"

He takes his cue to start piling things into the bags (and now, he's sort of clear on what the milk and the bottle are for . . . if the diapers are any indication. He's not as adverse to a bottle of milk, oddly).

Ava crosses the room, pushing buttons on her Blackberry, and snaps out in her old tone, "Keller. Yes. Have the car round the front in five minutes. We’re going to be dropping someone home, so be ready with the GPS. That’s all."

"All right, Michael. Let’s go." She leads the way out of the boardroom, leaving Mike to carry the bag full of things.

But he stops. "Um . . . Ava, I need my shoes." It's the first time he's used her name, and she turns around, looking a bit surprised. Clearly, no one uses her Christian name much . . . just "Ms. Hessington".

"Well, Michael, where did you leave them?" Hers, of course, were conveniently under the boardroom table, and she now clacks imperiously across the marble tile floors in the reception area. Mike tries to think. Where did he leave them? Are they down in the associates' wing, or back in the file room, where he'd had his first accident? Ava is starting to look impatient, and he's starting to feel a bit nervous.

Ava sighs, then. Oh god. he's taking too long and she's going to leave him . . . Mike's chin starts to quiver again, despite the fact that he KNOWS he's being ridiculous. After all, he’s a grown man in his 30s now. He shouldn't be fearing that she's going to turn around and leave because he can't find his shoes, and he knows it. If she leaves, she leaves.

"Man up, Ross," he tells himself. "Stop snivelling."

Ava starts to tap her foot. "Michael, it's not that I want to interrupt your very important reverie, but it is late, and I would like to get back to the hotel at some point tonight. Please find your shoes, and quickly."

Mike suddenly feels vastly, overwhelmingly uncomfortable. He’s standing here wearing a diaper and Walmart clothing that Ava has bought him. He has no shoes. And he just wants to go home, and go to bed. He looks up at Ava, at the blue eyes that are a few shades icier than his own, and his vision blurs. He blinks to clear it, and two tears fall to the reception area carpet.

Ava’s face changes. "Oh, Michael. Come on, love. No more crying, all right? I’ll help you find them if you can't remember. Though," - sharply – “I can't understand why you can't remember where a simple pair of shoes are."

It's clear Ava herself is tired, from her lack of patience struggling with her sympathy for him, and Mike realizes that this is probably taking a lot out of her, too. So he shuffles over, more towards the opposite wall, and mumbles, "It’s okay. I can find them, just go ahead. I’ll call a cab or something."

Well, at least he THINKS he says the words in a reasonable tone. In reality, his voice wobbles dangerously, and cracks at the end. And when he hears that, he feels his throat close up and his nose start to clog, and he knows he's going to break completely down, again, in front of her, over a pair of shoes. Good God, Ross.

Ava’s voice comes as if from far away. "Sweetie, I’m not going anywhere, all right? Now," she states, "let's have a think, shall we? Where did you come from before you came to me? Did you have your shoes on then?"

Her smoky voice is so gentle, so calm, and that doesn't make him feel better. He’s a pathetic baby. And he's supposed to have an eidetic memory. So why isn't it working right now? Why can't he remember where the goddamn shoes are?

Mike’s lower lip is trembling out of control, and he lets out a sob (or two . . . or three) before he can answer her. At this, she's suddenly right beside him again, her head just clearing the top of his shoulder. And she has her arms around him, warm and comforting against his chest.

"Shh, shh. Oh, you're having a hard time, aren't you, love? It’s all right. This office isn't so grand that we can't find them. I think maybe we should start where you were. Think, now. Where did you come from when I called you in?"

Mike wishes he could put his head on her shoulder. "Um," he sniffles, wiping his eyes,” I was in the file room."

Now, they're actually getting somewhere for a change. Ava nods understandingly, and he feels even more stupid. This serves to give him a slightly stronger voice, at least.

“I don't think they're there," he says, now sounding a bit more like himself. “I had them on when I left, but I stopped into Harvey’s office." He fails to tell her that he also shed his suit coat and, if he could have, his shirt.

"Okay," says Ava. "Let’s go to Mr. Specter’s office and get your shoes, then. And then, my boy, I’m going to take you home. You’re absolutely knackered if something like this has gotten you this upset, mm?"

Her hug feels so good that he just wants to stand there for a while, letting her hug him. It’s been a long time since he's felt the hug of anyone who really truly wanted to take care of him. But he can feel the exhaustion like a big weight on his shoulders, and he can also tell from the way that Ava isn't holding herself up as customarily stiffly as she usually does that she's also tired.

So when she lets go of him, he takes her hand, and they walk to Harvey’s office, Ava's shoes thumping reassuringly against the carpet, his bare feet making soft noises beside her. It’s so natural that Mike actually smiles a little bit. When he steals a glance at Ava, she's smiling a little, too.

They find Mike's shoes where he left them - in the middle of Harvey’s office. His suit jacket is also there, draped over Harvey’s couch. Mike lets go of Ava’s hand and picks up his shoes, sitting heavily on the couch to put them on. As he does so, he forgets that he's wearing a very noisy diaper, and is subsequently surprised by the loud crinkling noise that ensues when he sits down.

His cheeks flush, and Ava chuckles a little. "It’s still better than wet trousers, now," she says, and Mike has to chuckle, too, because it's true, even if it is supremely embarrassing. It takes him short work to put his shoes on, and when he gets up, he stretches his back and yawns. Ava looks at him sympathetically. "Come on, darling."

In the elevator on the way down, Mike suddenly wishes he was wearing a coat, or even a hoodie - something to cover the fact that he's leaving the firm's offices not dressed in a suit and conspicuously dressed in a diaper. Ava is checking her Blackberry, and doesn't see his cheeks flush bright red. Some of the security guys know him, for Christ’s sake. What if they think he's cracked up? (Though, to be honest, he probably has.)

Ava is muttering to herself, completely oblivious to his turmoil, though. "So much work to do even when I get back. Ugh. These incompetent ninnies can't even handle the simplest thing alone."

In a terrible realization, Mike wants to disappear into the shadows, and not inconvenience this woman's time any more than he already has. They’ve probably wasted close to an hour up there, with his ridiculousness.

He almost melts into the back of the elevator, but there's no time to do anything else - they're on the ground floor, and Ava is clacking imperiously out. "Come along, Michael. We haven't got all night, you know."

So, he has two choices. He could stay frozen to the spot like an idiot in the elevator, or he could come along with Ava. And as his exhaustion and overwhelming desperation sets in, he finds himself bowing his head and taking her outstretched hand, his cheeks brighter than the sun. Please, don't let Rolf be around today. Please, God, no.

Mike creeps out of the elevator, trying to stay behind Ava as she mutters on her way to the front doors. She’s still talking half to him, half to herself, though.

“I really cannot understand why putting together a simple package of reports seems to beyond these idiots. How hard is it, really? A first-year associate at this firm could have done it more quickly. I truly resent having to hold their hands through this," and as she's muttering, Mike's casting desperate glances around the large, modern office space. Everything echoes off the chrome-and-glass. You can hear someone talking if you're standing on the other side of the elevator bank. And just before they reach the street, Mike hears a familiar voice.

"Will that be all for tonight, Ms. Hessington? You don't expect to be coming back up?"

“I shouldn't think so, surely," snaps Ava, wholly back to herself. "Why would I need to come back up at three o'clock in the morning? Unlike some, I believe in a full night's sleep before going at it again. Please bother someone else with these questions."

Mike keeps his face straight ahead and his shoulders hunched. Rolf is directly behind them, and he hasn't seen Mike's face. Because Mike isn't dressed in his customary suit, maybe Rolf won't recognize him. And thankfully, he hears Rolf’s voice fading as the man turns around to leave. "Okay. You have a good night, Ms. Hessington."

Mike lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and starts to follow Ava through the doors. As he does so, however, he feels an overwhelming, uncomfortably familiar warmth and realizes for the first time Ava’s logic in having him wear diapers. At least no one knows this time that he's had another accident.

The town car is waiting for them outside. Keller, a tall, reedy man with a clipped white beard and moustache, gets out of the drivers' seat to open the door for Ava. "Good evening, Ms. Hessington," he says, his Brooklyn accent a little more formal than Mike's used to.

Ava doesn't deign to answer him. "Come on, Michael. Get in, lad." and despite the heavy, uncomfortable warm padding between his legs that he's sure Keller will get an eyeful of as he watches Mike's ass disappear into the dark interior, he follows Ava, not wanting to create any scenes on the street. If Keller notices anything, he keeps it to himself. He doesn't even speak to Mike.

Once Mike is settled beside Ava on the long seat inside the limousine, Keller closes the door and disappears to the front of the car again. Ava ensures that the privacy screen is up between Keller and the backseat and presses a button.

"Keller. We’re going to take Mr. Ross home. Now," turning to Mike, "where do you live, darling?"

"Er," says Mike, unsure if Keller can still hear them or not, "131 116th street."

Ava nods. "131 116th. Not too far at this time of night." She lets the button go and Keller’s voice crackles back to them. "Yes, Ms. Hessington. We’ll be there in about twenty minutes."

Mike's uncomfortable in his wet diaper, which, unlike wet pants, sort of presses up against him, whichever way he moves. Ava is once again on her Blackberry, but Mike feels too squirrelly to sit quietly and look at his own phone. This is more than a little weird, and he's feeling tired, cranky, and hungry. After a few moments of him trying to inconspicuously squirm into a comfortable position, Ava puts her phone down with a set face.

"Do you plan to squirm like an eel the entire way home, Michael, or do you think you can sit still for five minutes while I try to take care of my incompetent assistants in another time zone?"

Mike flushes in the dark, but feels his lips push forward into a pout. "I’m sorry," he begins, "but it's late and you really don't have to take me home, especially if it's going to annoy you. I can get out and go home on my own."

His voice is steady enough, but Ava appears to hear something different - a plaintive, little-boy note, perhaps? - because she puts her phone into her handbag and opens up her arms.

"I know you're tired, lovey. Come," and Mike finds himself crawling into her arms. This time, it's much more comfortable than sitting on the hard carpet of the boardroom. This time, the comfortable limo seats cradle his back and legs a bit, and Ava is sitting more comfortably and less stiffly. He snuggles into her, and she chuckles, the sound reverberating a bit through her chest.

"You don't really want me to chuck you out onto the road to find your way home, now do you?" she chides him playfully, stroking his unruly, spiky hair back. "You’re much too tired for that. Now, shh," and she strokes his cheek until his eyes close.

He doesn't mean to fall asleep - he really doesn't - but the next thing he knows, Keller is pulling the car up the narrow little street where he lives and Ava stroking his cheek again. "Wake up, darling."

Mike yawns and wants to snuggle with Ava more, but she's already gently pushing him off her so that she can get out of the car.

"Come on, love. Let’s settle you in. Keller!" she calls, and Keller’s voice appears at the passenger door window. "Ma'am?"

"Keller, I’ve told you a million times if I’ve told you once that 'ma'am' is hardly what I want to hear now or ever. Anyway, please unload the boot. I’m going to take that bag with us upstairs."

"Certainly, Ms. Hessington." Keller opens the door and disappears around to the back of the car, and Mike gets out of the car first, stretching his cramped long legs and back. He turns and offers Ava his hand to get out, and she accepts, surprisingly, letting him pull her up and out.

"Thank you, Michael. Now. Take the bag and let's go. Keller, I’ll be about half an hour to forty-five minutes, give or take."

The light's out in the stairwell after Mike unlocks the front door, which displeases Ava to the extreme. "I’m sure I’ll never quite comprehend how they expect us to climb stairs in the pitch black," she complains, but Mike just takes her hand and eventually, they get up to his apartment on the third floor.

Ava straightens her skirt and Mike suddenly has a frisson of dread about the state of his flat. He thinks it's clean? He hopes it's clean.

But if Ava has a problem with the apartment, she doesn't say it. She simply places her handbag on the table beside the entrance and watches silently as Mike removes his shoes. Then she smiles. "All right, lad. Are you feeling hungry? Will we have a little snack before we put you to bed?"

We? thinks Mike, but he is hungry, and he's also uncomfortably wet. Thinking about this brings the pout back into his face, and Ava notices his expression change.

"What’s the trouble, Michael?" she asks.

Since Ava is a person who requires a straight answer at all times, Mike knows he's going to have to tell her that he's had another accident. And somehow, he doesn't want to tell her. He doesn't want her to know that he's just as "incompetent" as her flunkies back at the offices in London, or that he can't handle himself.

As he thinks about this stuff, his eyes start to blur with tears, and standing there, in his tiny, half-lit apartment, in a wet diaper, in front of a woman who, twenty-four hours ago, was a drunken joke he had with Harvey, is too much. He starts to cry, and now, he knows, he won't be able to stop as easily as before.

"Oh, Michael," says Ava, sounding startled. "Oh, my sweet boy. Shh. It can't be as bad as all that. Oh, dear."

She goes to hug him again, but he takes a step back from her, and Ava’s face changes. She almost looks hurt for a split second before her face closes. And the change in expressions makes him feel even worse. He sinks onto his couch and sobs, hoping he's not going to wake his neighbors and make this night even more embarrassing.

Ava recovers herself and sits beside him, rubbing his shoulders until he calms down a little bit. "Well, it's either been a very hard day, or there's something quite terribly wrong. Are you going to tell me so that I can help?"

Her voice is gentle, and her straight words calm him down a little bit. But he still can't tell her. His hands twist in his lap and unconsciously, he touches the front of his flannel pants, and Ava’s face lights up in understanding.

"Ah. I think I know," she says, and Mike's hands fly up to hide his face. But she gently removes them and chuckles a little. "On top of everything else, I’m sure a wet nappy wasn't something you'd bargained for, was it, love? That’s all right, you know. At least it wasn't all over the car, or your clothes, this time."

Mike imperceptibly nods, and Ava rubs his shoulders again. "All right. Let’s get you cleaned up and fed."

She rises and Mike wonders in slight alarm if she's going to insist on being the one to clean him up again. And oddly if she does insist . . . he's surprisingly okay with it. It had been embarrassing last time, but having the responsibility taken out of his hands was comforting, in a way.

He shifts, his wet diaper pressing against him, and starts to stammer. "Um . . . okay. I’ll just go and do that, then." His face is redder than the sun, and he stumbles a little over the coffee table, but Ava reaches out to touch his hand.

"No, love. You go and lie down on your bed. I’ll be there in a moment."

Mike quietly goes and does as Ava bids him. His bed feels so good under his back that he wants to roll around a bit on it happily, but refrains from doing so. Ava is rustling around in the bags she brought up, and he knows that she's going to not only change him, but make him wear another diaper. And oddly, Mike sort of doesn't care. It made sense, in the end, and was definitely better than having to clean up a big mess.

"All right, Michael. Now, lift your hips for me, that's a good boy," and suddenly Ava’s in front of him, taking down his pajama pants easily. "Ah, no wonder you were upset. That doesn't look nice at all," she comments, and he kind of wishes she wouldn't. It’s so embarrassing for this to happen as it is, without extra comments, but of course, he would never ever tell her that.

Ava quietly untapes his diaper and wipes him down. She’s so good at it that he's a little surprised - she doesn't have children, and she certainly doesn't seem maternal.

He wants to ask her how she knows exactly what to do, but before he can, she's cleaned him thoroughly (and thank God, without Mike having an erection on top of everything else - whatever deity is above has granted him at least that tonight) and is tapping his hips again.

"Up you go, lad. That’s a boy," and then she's sliding a new diaper beneath him and pulling it up to cover his penis. And as soon as she's started, she's finished and he feels better, in a cottony-soft diaper that hugs him comfortably.

Mike manages a bit of a smile, and Ava smiles back at him warmly. "You see? Nappies make sense for you, don't they? This feels much better and most likely much more secure than running around in wet trousers, now, doesn't it."

With that, she quickly disposes of the diaper while he sits back up on his bed and rubs his eyes in exhaustion.

"Aw, my love. We’ll get some food into you and then it's bed time, I’m afraid, young man. We’ll both have an early start tomorrow." She clacks efficiently into the kitchen and starts opening cupboards. "Michael, I say, I’ve never quite seen such a . . . bachelor-style flat. Do you not own a single pot at all?"

Mike can't help himself now. "How do you know how to cook?" he asks, maybe a bit impertinently. But instead of Ava getting offended, all she does is chuckle in that rich, smoky voice of hers.

“I had a life before Hessington Oil, Michael. I didn't always have people to drive me to and fro and people to attend to my every whim. I grew up much as anyone else did, and I assure you, I know how to heat up a tin of soup at least. Now. You have soup, you must have a pot."

Mike points silently to a top left cupboard and Ava opens it to find his lone pot. "All right. Now. I’ll have some lovely soup for you in just a little while." As she industriously puts together the simple meal, finding a loaf of bread in his freezer and a few lone olives and an ancient block of cheddar cheese in the fridge, he hugs his knees and watches her work. Efficient and deft, her movements remind him powerfully of his grandmother's. He feels just as taken care of.

As she works, she keeps up her usual caustic commentary. "Good Lord, Michael, if I didn't know you had a brain in your head, I’d suspect you were less than mentally competent. Do you ever shop for food, or do you subsist on pizza and beer only?"

Since she doesn't seem to want any answers, he simply lets her comments flow over him, his eyes half-closed, and the smell of soup beginning to fill his apartment with a warm aroma. And soon enough, Ava has laid out a spoon and a plate of cheese and olives on the table, and is spreading a napkin beside them. "Well, my boy, come and eat. I’m sure you're ready for it.”

Mike immediately gets up, diaper crinkling loudly, and almost bounds over to the table. He slides into his chair and picks up his spoon, ready to dive in. Ava, up till now, had only smiled sardonically or warmly - now, she actually grins, and it makes her look years younger.

She chuckles. "Well, at least there's nothing wrong with your tummy, then." Before he starts, she takes the liberty of tying a napkin around his neck, which he tries to ignore, because it’s the exact same thing his grandmother used to do. He eagerly digs a spoon into the chicken noodle soup and shoves it into his mouth -- to open it again in pain and shock when the hot soup burns his tongue.

Ava clucks under her tongue. "Slow down, boy. You’ll do yourself an injury." She rubs his back and gently wipes his chin with the napkin she tied around his neck. "Now. Slowly. It’s hot!"

But Mike suddenly isn't interested in eating anymore. His mouth hurts, now, and eating seems hard, and he's TIRED . . . his blue eyes fill with tears and his lower lip comes out. None of this is missed by Ava.

"Oh, Michael. You’re not going to cry again?" The question is sharp, but her voice is gentle, and he can't help a sniffle or two as she rubs his shoulders, then sits down across from him.

"All right. I see that in order to get any food into you tonight, I’ll have to take over." And picking up the spoon, she takes a bit of the soup, blows on it gently, and then pops it into his mouth before he can do anything else. "Now, then. That’s not so bad, is it? Quite good, isn't it?"

Mike nods, and wipes his eyes, then obediently opens his mouth for more. He’s actually extremely hungry, having skipped dinner to work on a few cases for Harvey, and the soup is hitting the spot. He picks up the cheese, olives, and bread on his own to nibble on, but Ava is always ready with another spoonful for him. And soon enough, the food is gone, and Mike's belly is comfortably full.

"There, now." Ava’s eyes are warm as she watches Mike's own eyes droop. "You’re much better, now, aren't you, lad?"

And he is - warm and diapered and full. He can't help a big yawn, and Ava smiles. "i think it's bedtime."

He’s curious then – is she going to leave, now? He rubs his eyes as she comes over with a dampened paper towel and efficiently wipes his face. He’s amazed at how she just sort of fits in – this woman who seems so incredibly cold and hard most of the time professionally, is really just looking for someone to take care of.

Since he’s already dressed and dry, he wanders into the bathroom to brush his teeth while Ava straightens his rumpled bed. He was a little wary of letting her do that, but she pushed him towards the bathroom, saying, “Now, Michael, if I wanted backtalk, I wouldn’t be here. Go and clean your teeth. You’re very tired and I don’t mind saying, so am I.”

When he comes out of the bathroom, she’s sitting on the bed, her legs elegantly crossed, looking at her phone. She smiles at him as he comes and sits beside her, crawling into bed and burrowing under his covers. His diaper makes a loud crinkling noise, but he almost doesn’t mind – it makes him feel safe.

Ava starts to stroke his cheek. “I really shouldn’t stay, I suppose. I’ve got to get up tomorrow and so do you, young man,” she reminds him, but he pouts a little at her words and she continues to stroke his cheek, humming a little under her breath.

The last thing he knows is her humming. When she gently moves to get up from the bed, he’s fast asleep, his hand fisted around the covers, his other hand on her knee.

For the first time since he started working at Pearson Darby Specter, he feels safe.


End file.
